


103*

by Pollarize



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 14:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10414287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollarize/pseuds/Pollarize
Summary: What are the chances that both of them were sick?





	

**Author's Note:**

> SO I SAW PANIC TODAY and dallon was in the hospital last night for being sick and then brendon could barely talk and had a fever of 103 so logically i had to write a sickfic

Dallon was the first one to go down.

 

He’d been fine, fine, fine. In fact, the week before he’d been bragging about his inability to get sick. Of course it would have been Dallon to go down first.

 

He woke up that morning, rolling over and immediately throwing up. It had been so long since he’d gotten that sick that it startled him. He’d never liked the feeling of throwing up. It left him unable to breathe, heaving again and again even though nothing was coming out. He never failed, each and every time, to cry. 

 

That was how Brendon found him, leaning over the edge of the bed, tears streaming down his face. 

  
“Dallon,” Brendon started, not noticing right away what state Dallon was in. When he didn’t respond, Brendon looked up from his phone, eyes going wide. “Dallon,” he said, but this time his voice was concerned and he rushed over to the bed, being careful not to kneel in the vomit. His  hand went to Dallon’s hair, running through it gently. That was the first time that Dallon hadn’t yanked his head away, avoiding his hair being touched at all costs.

 

That was how Brendon knew that Dallon was really sick. He stopped doing things that were so very Dallon, Brendon began to worry. 

 

“Maybe we should see a doctor,” he suggested, standing up and pulling sweats on so he’d be presentable in public. Dallon hadn’t moved though. He was panting, eyes wide and so very scared. He shifted and then gagged again and Brendon watched as a new wave of tears fell. He hadn’t seen something more pitiful than this. 

 

He lazed in bed for the rest of the day. Dallon had a trashcan next to him on the floor and a large bowl tucked under his arm. Brendon offered to make Jell-o but Dallon refused to swallow anything. He’d attempted to drink water after Brendon pleaded with him.

 

“You need fluids,” he’d said and after a good five minutes, Dallon gave into him. He took the glass and brought it to his lips and it washed down the taste of stomach acid. It soothed his aching throat and for a minute, Dallon appreciated Brendon’s help. 

 

It only lasted a moment, though. The water hit Dallon’s stomach and he was vomiting again, crying and if he could breathe, he probably would have had some choice words for Brendon. 

 

It was hours later, night falling and Brendon’s worry growing. Dallon refused to drink or eat, mumbling that he was fine every time Brendon even opened his mouth. Dallon had been sweating under a pile of blankets that Brendon had been laying on top of him throughout the day.

 

He opened his mouth, looking over to Dallon.

 

“I’m fine,” he said, though his voice was weak and he looked the opposite of fine. 

 

“Can you at least take a shower?” Brendon asked, sighing quietly. “It’s, like, a proven fact that showers make you feel better,” he explained and though Dallon’s eyes were closed, Brendon knew he would be rolling his eyes. 

 

“Fine, I’ll shower,” Dallon said, pushing at the blankets to try and break free. “Don’t wanna sleep with me or something? Smell bad?” He teased and Brendon tried to laugh but he didn’t necessarily find it funny.

 

He was worried about Dallon’s well being, practically leaping across the bed to keep a hand on Dallon and steady him when Dallon swayed. 

 

Dallon got into the fall before his hand flew to his mouth and he was shaking his head frantically. His throat was working, trying to swallow down whatever bile was pushing up. In the end it was useless. Dallon doubled over and was throwing up yet again, hand on the wall, trying to catch himself. Brendon thought that he was done throwing up but that seemed to be the least of his worries.

 

Dallon went limp underneath Brendon’s hand, his knees giving out and his body dropping. He collapsed into his own vomit, groaning when he came to. Brendon helped him up carefully, vomit on his knees and arms from where he’d landed. Dallon was disoriented, eyes not quite seeing as Brendon took him to the bathroom and undressed him carefully. He was lowering dallon into the bathtub when Dallon finally registered some of what was happening.

 

“No sex,” he moaned, trying to move away from Brendon’s hands. Brendon just sighed, checking the temperature of the water that was already running. 

 

“No sex,” he agreed, hands going back to Dallon’s hair, stroking gently. It got him a content sigh and a hint of a smile.

 

“Feels nice,” he said after a while. Brendon wasn’t sure if it was the warm water or the head massage so he asked.

 

“I like it when you touch my hair,” he said and Brendon was a little shocked. Up until now, Dallon had been so adamant about nobody going near his hair. This was new for him. 

 

“Maybe you should let me do it more,” he said and it seemed like Dallon was falling asleep again. Brendon was gentle as he wiped Dallon off, cleaning him as best as Brendon could without having to move him around too much. Dallon only complained when the water started draining and he was shivering.

 

By that point, Brendon had made up his mind. He was going to take Dallon to the emergency room, there was no way he’d be talked out of it.

 

He dressed Dallon in soft and baggy clothes, ignoring the protests as he was guided to Brendon’s car and pushed inside. He was given a plastic bag and Brendon reached across to buckle his seatbelt and at that point the fight left Dallon’s bones. He’d accepted his fate. 

 

The emergency room was, for the most part, less than helpful. They said he was sick, that he’d throw up. The only thing they managed to do for Brendon was start an IV so that Dallon could get his fluids back. 

 

By the time the bag had dripped empty, Dallon was coherent. He was talking and he even offered up a small smile and a thank you. 

 

“I feel better,” he’d said in the car on the way back. Brendon smiled at that, pleased that he’d done something right. There was still that lingering ache that was obvious and the unsettled feeling of being sick but he acted like he wasn’t dying. He seemed better.

 

That was why Brendon was so shocked when he woke up feeling like absolute shit. The only thing that comforted him was that he hadn’t thrown up yet. Brendon shook underneath blankets, shook with Dallon, his own personal radiator, next to him. The only thing to leave his mouth was a whine as he tried to burrow deeper into the blankets. 

 

The action woke Dallon up, confused why Brendon was still being lazy. It was unlike him to wake up and then attempt to sleep again. Dallon was used to being woken up to something loud at far too early in the morning. 

 

“Bren?” He asked, pulling the covers back to look at Brendon’s face. He seemed to be in pain, groaning and rolling to face Dallon, moving towards the source of warmth. Dallon almost doubted that Brendon was sick, reaching out and feeling his forehead. “Holy shit, Brendon, you’re on fire,” he said, sighing when he got Brendon’s face in his chest.

 

“Don’t throw up on me,” Dallon finally said, inching away slightly. Brendon shook his head, making another small noise. 

 

“I don’t feel nauseous,” he explained, grabbing at the front of Dallon’s sweatshirt that he’d been put into the night before. “I just feel like I’m dying.”

 

Dallon wormed his way out of bed after ten minutes, getting a thermometer from the bathroom. He checked Brendon’s temperature and almost choked on spit.

 

“Bren, dude, you’ve got a fever of one-oh-three,” he said, frowning down at the thermometer. He was about ready to pack Brendon up and drive him to the hospital like Brendon had done last night. Brendon shook his head and rolled away, hugging a pillow to his chest. 

 

“Not going,” he said and it was the same stubbornness as always. Dallon sighed and laid in bed next to him.

 

They were a pitiful sight, taking turns being the adult and comforter. Dallon would roll to the side and get sick, the trashcan still there for convenience. He’d get up long enough to clean his mouth out with water before he was back in bed, holding Brendon through his cold sweats. 

 

“I’m not letting you eat my ass again,” Brendon whined, his shaking bordering on violent even when he was wrapped up in Dallon’s arms. Dallon looked down at him, raising an eyebrow.

 

“What’s that got to do with this situation?” He asked and Brendon shrugged.

 

“You got me sick,” he said and Dallon rolled his eyes. They both relaxed and fell asleep, napping the day away until it was dinner time and they could attempt some chicken noodle soup.  


End file.
